The Strings Attached
by XDropBearX
Summary: Whispers speak of her travels through Skyrim, they know her as a Warrior. A Hero. She was none of those. They shroud her name with light and honour, but she held none. She was 'Dovahkiin', supposed saviour of Skyrim.
1. Helgen

**Hey my little cupcakes, this is a re-write of the first chapter which I had re-read and pretty much cried in self-loathing at how bad it was and how many mistakes were there. Hopefully you like what I have changed and give me some feedback. Thanks guys. I would like to thank my friend **_**Atomicvegemite, **_**as usual for her assistance in this story.** **Just a reminder, I am intertwining this story line with hers and I recommend you go read her stuff, cause she's awesome.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything of Skyrim, just Dene.**

_**Enjoy! **_

Sweet Dreams by Marilyn Manson

The cold was never a welcoming factor to Dene in these parts; it brought white rain from the sky and coated the mountains and lands like a second layer of earth, making the nights restless and stifling. She didn't even remember why she'd considered setting foot over this frozen lands border. She hated Skyrim. Dene eyed her surroundings with distaste, toying with the frayed ends of the rope that was tightly bound to her wrists with her calloused fingers. The frigid air made the veins in her hands visible, rivers of blue that knitted along her olive skin. She had come to about an hour ago without her pack or weapons, her head throbbing, eyes heavy, hands frozen and face numb… not the best circumstances she's woken up to; but not the worst. She'd been pretty much bagged and tagged along with a bunch of misfits who'd been fighting some rebellion.

She sat in a cart, sporting a small gash on her temple and a mind splitting head ache. Wedged between a rank smelling solider and a Nord man wearing high end clothes and a rag covering his mouth. He seemed most out of place, angling himself away from Dene, only looking over at her with frustration flashing in his eyes. A scruffy blonde man who sat across from Dene said the large gagged man's name with utmost respect; Ulfric Stormcloak, _the true High King_. This didn't get a good response from a shady looking man who seemed out of place among the Nords who all sported leather armour and blue sashes. His panic at the sound of this Ulfric person's name made her uneasy.

Where were they taking them? Dene knew as soon as she was attacked and surrounded by Imperial Guards that she was in some seriously deep shit. And being the intelligent wood elf that she is, she put her hunting bow away and held her palms up as a peace offering; didn't stop them from knocking her out with a hefty wack to the face. She hadn't been doing anything illegal… well nothing that she knew of that is; nothing a little smooth talking couldn't handle. But not once in any of the lands she travelled had guards or soldiers pursued her when she had lowered her weapon, they didn't even give her her rights. Maybe it worked differently in Skyrim? It's not like there's a freaking rule pamphlet or something on this. Jail maybe? She had been to her fair share of those in her earlier days, not having the gold to pay off the fine of stealing from some sods strong box...

Wherever they were taking them it better be close, her butt was seriously aching, the wooden seat rattled and jolted at every bump, sending small jars of pain up her tailbone. Dene shifted, trying to get the feeling back into her legs. Wiggling her toes, the woodelf looked to the scruffy blonde man across from her.

She cleared her dry throat, "Do you have any idea where they're taking us?"

The blonde Nord looked at her with weary eyes, "I don't know, but wherever it is, Sovengarde awaits."

Dene nodded to herself, that didn't sound too good…? "Right. Sovengarde." There was a short pause. "Where—er- where's that exactly?"

The Nord chuckled lightly, a small smile splitting his lips. "That is for us to find out now, isn't it little elf?" he lifted a brow.

Dene blinked. What kind of answer was that? She held back a scowl, deciding instead to lift a eyebrow of her own. The Nords face fell slightly at her blank response. "I take it you're new to Skyrim?"

Dene licked her lips, "It's been a while since my last visit." She muttered half-heartedly in her defence.

The blonde sighed, averting his gaze to his bound hands, "I'm afraid you chose the wrong day to visit Skyrim little elf." He said solemnly before meeting her eyes, "For this carriage is more than likely taking us to our end."

Dene stiffened, processing this information. "Metaphorical end?" she asked on a whim.

The scruffy blonde shook his head, "Very real I'm afraid."

"Well, that's just great." She muttered, leaning back against the wooden plank of the cart with a sigh, frosty smoke puffed into the air.

"I shouldn't be here." The shady dark haired Nord stated in a quivering voice, "This can't be happening."

The blonde Nord looked towards the dirty man with a glare before sighing, "What village are you from horse thief?"

The dark haired man squinted, "What do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be one of home."

Dene looked to her bounded hands. Home. To be home would be a nice change right now. She hadn't been home for a long time it seemed; surrounded by my annoying family members and family friends, the smell of her mum's cooking and the disaster of her many siblings; younger and older alike.

Dene must have withdrawn for a while, the carriage was doused in silence, and they were approaching a large stone wall.

"General Tullius, sir! The Headsman is waiting!"

Looks like persuasion wasn't going to get her out of this predicament.

Dene stepped off the cart with light feet, joining the line-up of rebels, the only exception being a small dark haired Nord woman who looked just about ready to release her bodily fluids. They, like her, were bound at the wrists and stripped of their weapons and personal effects. Dene's hunting bow, arrows, dagger and travel pack- they took everything; stripped her down to her light leather breaches, vest and boots. At least they let her keep her boots, where she kept some more coins.

She was being sent to the block with Stormcloak rebels. Dene could proudly say she had never been a part of an execution before, whether it be the one on death row or an observer. They had them in lines as they called out names from some list. She still had small hopes with her little_ situation_; her name wouldn't be placed on the list of criminals in Skyrim, for she hadn't participated in any crimes within these borders. This could very well work in her advantage if she played her cards right and held her poker face. But even with that encouragement, a hollow pit formed into Dene's stomach as each name was called, only for them to form another line before the chopping block; a line that reserved their end. It was a bad feeling to be involved with this particular line.

Dene scanned the area with narrowed eyes. They were surrounded, not just by the stone wall structured around Helgen that made Dene feel more restrained then she already was but the crowd that gathered behind the guards. Eyes peered at them with fierce intensity, she felt like a stuffed pig at a royal feast; naked, her private bits hanging out for all of Helgen to see. Dene looked from face to face, sneers of disgust, crinkled brows of apprehension... She even caught a child's face full of anticipation before a man hauled him back inside by the scruff of his neck.

In what kind of land did children like bloodshed? What kind of place was Skyrim?

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."

The man calling off the list, who to Dene, seemed rather sorrowful as he said the names of leather clad Nord soldiers, his eyes averted as they walked to the line of execution, but as he said the large well-dressed man's name it was in a steely and dare she say, a _hateful_ tone. Dene guessed that this Ulfric fellow wasn't very liked in these parts. Splitting families apart with war and as far as Dene's knowledge went, making them kill their brothers and sisters for some belief.

"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric." The blonde scruffy Nord man said behind her, voice laced with pride.

The list holder's voice was back to its sorrowful edge, "Ralof of Riverwood." His eyes locked onto Dene with an intense gaze… no, it wasn't directed to her but to the man who stood tall and scruffy behind her.

Dene met the blonde Ralof's blue gaze that was slightly obscured by his blonde hair for only a moment before he joined his Jarl to the line that stood before their death sentence.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

It was the horse thief. She looked towards his trembling form. He was dressed in rags that might have been white at some point; his skin was caked with dirt to the point if he lay on the ground and kept really still, you could have mistaken him for strangely arranged earth.

"No, I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!" His tone was edged with salty panic. The kind of panic that indicated the person was willing to do something extremely stupid to avoid compromise.

He bounced on the balls of his feet for only a second more before his mind was overwhelmed with his fear of death. It was an intense moment that seemed to happen in the span of a few seconds. Like any thief, he was fast on his feet as he attempted to make his escape, but not fast enough to avoid the arrow that now lodged into his back.

There was a long silence as Dene stared at Lokir's twitching form with slightly widened eyes. _What the fuck was that?!_ He was going to the block anyways, couldn't they have just dragged him back and put him out of his misery there and then! Bloody brutal these people are.

"Anyone else feel like running?" An Imperial woman with shiny armor and a ridiculous helmet leered, her steely eyes scanning the remaining prisoners.

The brunette Nord holding the list shifted on his feet next to the shiny Imperial.

"Wait. You there. Step forward."

Dene gapped for a moment, quickly checking the people who still stood with her before squinting back at the Nord.

"Elf."

_Elf_. She paused. Elf meaning_ her_. Dene took a deep breath, trying to clamp down the sinking feeling flooding her stomach and clutching her lungs. She slowly crossed the small space out of the crowd of Nords that stood around her until she stood in front of the brunette.

The Nord glanced at her and then at the list. Dene watched him impatiently; her name wasn't going to be on that list, it couldn't be. Dene looked down to her leather clad feet.

"Who are you?"

Her head snapped up as she considered the man for a moment before staring hard at the piece of parchment in his hand, "Dene of Valenwood." She answered her voice carefully void of the fear that held her rigid.

The Nord man sighed, eyes scanning the list, "Not many Woodelves would choose to come alone to Skyrim." It was a statement that made Dene's eye twitch.

"I'm starting to understand why."

"Captain. What should we do? She's not on the list."

The woman glared at Dene for only a moment before snarling her order, "Forget the list. She goes to the block."

The man gaped at her, glancing to Dene, "By your orders, Captain. I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Valenwood. Follow the Captain, prisoner" He had looked into her hazel eyes with pity, maybe regret, but Dene's attention was held by that one statement as she made her way to the lineup of the block; _we'll make sure you remains are returned to Valenwood_. Her _remains_… oh god. Her _mother_, - her _entire family _were going to see her headless body, told that she was executed for a crime that she did _not_ commit. _Her mother_, after everything she had put her through, this would have to be the breaking point, the straw that broke the horses back. If she did somehow survive this, she would be afraid of what her mother would do to her.

Her troubling thoughts were halted as a rather withered old man, Tulluis, Ralof said his name was, stood in front of the Jarl, explaining how they were going to 'put him down'; Dene zoned out half way, her eyes locked onto the wooden block where her head would soon lie until the moment the big freakin axe connected to an even bigger freakin executioner would decapitate her.

A wave of sound cracked and echoed through the air, sending a shock throughout her entire body. Dene craned her head up, searching the sky. She'd never heard anything like it; uneasiness puddled at the bottom of her spine. She didn't like it.

There was a long pause as everyone searched the skies in alarm. It was the Nord with the list that broke the silence, "What was that?"

The old man searched the sky a seconded longer, "It's nothing. Carry on." His voice was soft, uncertain.

"Yes, General Tullius! Give them their last rites" the female Imperial Captain barked.

A woman in red and golden robes started to chant to their gods, arms out, palms facing the sky.

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with." One of the Stormcloak soldiers snapped, stepping forward to the block with his head held high in an arrogance that confused the woodelf.

"Come on, I haven't got all morning."

He was shoved down by the Captain, he grunted in discomfort but voiced no other complaint, instead he growled haughtily, "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

There was a long pregnant silence as the executioner hefted the weapon into the air; Dene shut her eyes and angled her head away as the noise of axe hacking through bone met her ears. Dene opened her eyes and glared as blood squirted from the amputation. His head toppled off his neck, landing in a wooden crate with a disjointed thud. It was a disturbing sight to behold; a body with no head- or a head with no body; either way it made her stomach churn, even though she had seen the guts of many beasts flopping freely from its skin enclosure before she cooked and ate it.

She stared as the Stormcloak's body fell limply to the side with a dry throat as she envisioned it being her neck on the line. She didn't hear the female captain call for her to take her place at the chopping block, her voice overlapped by the thundering battle cry that filled the sky. Her eyes again averted to the cloud covered sky; it sounded much closer this time around, making her hands go clammy with anxiety.

"There it is again. Did you hear that!?"

"I said. Next prisoner!"

Dene's muscles tensed, her breath hitching as she closed her eyes. For a second she couldn't move, the knowledge that if she did she would be walking to her end. Licking her lips, Dene attempted to compose herself, breathing in through her nose which flared at the harsh scents in the air and out through her mouth harshly before opening her eyes.

The list man had waited for her to finish her small panic attack before saying in a soft yet demanding voice, "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

The silence was eerie as she stood in front of the still blood stained slab of wood. She nudged the body away with her foot, a small scowl indenting her face as his bodily fluids puddled the ground at her movements.

The next thing she knew her head was on the wooden chop block by a forceful shove. Dene angled her face away from the man's head that still lay with his eyes open and lifeless, mouth agape and stained with blood. They could have at least taken it out; there probably won't be any room for hers to plop off in.

She faced the man in the black mask, following the movement of his axes as he hefted it up into the air. That was when she saw it; the most unlikely thing.

It flew down from the skies, a cluster of scales, claws, teeth and leathery wings. Everything froze as she met its eyes as it loomed above her on its watch tower perch. She didn't hear what should have been a panicked commotion, only the harsh breathing of the giant lizard. Everyone was still, their eyes wide and jaws slack and Dene herself was at a loss of words. If it weren't for the dumbfounded look on the executioner's visible face, she would have thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. But that bubble, where people stood shell-shocked, quickly popped as the creature's mouth, clustered with black teeth, opened wide and released a powerful roar that set havoc upon Helgen, and Dene flying over the headless rebel's body and onto the ground with a bone rattling thump.


	2. Whiterun

**Hey people! Sorry it took so long, I'm naturally a slow writer but this was ridicules; school sucks. And now it's over till next year... :)  
Anyways, I would like to thank atomicvegemite for her help with this chapter, without her this would have taken a lot longer to finish. **

**Here's chapter two  
Enjoy**

_**Bankrobber by The Clash **_

Dene didn't like it. She squinted at the offending object that blocked her designated path. It was a big fucking wall, another one. It was intimidating to gaze upon, even though sections of it were caved in and crumbled. Its white mass of stones leered at her like a Nord would at a bug in their mead; and she knew that was going to be the main look she would receive when she walked the streets of Whiterun. She may never have been out of her lands borders before, but she'd heard the stories of the wood elves being considered slaves, inferior. Her current state of appearance didn't help. The tops of her eyes and her nostrils were covered in soot. Cuts, gashes and burns littered her exposed skin; she was in an immense amount of pain, even after having a healing potion and salve slapped onto her wounds. The soles of her shoes were melted; her hair and eyebrows were singed, and her feet were blistering. That was her own fault though, agreeing to walk to this stupid city to warn some important arse hat about the dragon attack and ask aid for the city of Riverwood. She had taken refuge there, restocked on some supplies given by Alvor, Hadvar's uncle. He was nice enough; an older man married to a young wife. They had a daughter, Dene stayed as far away from her as possible.

By the time she reached Whiterun the early night started to coat the lands in shadows and the air became frigid with its chill.

_Everything was dark. Not in the sense of there being no light, her eyes were open, filtering through the blurred flames and charred bodies, some twitching with the last remnants of life. No she saw the horror perfectly clear, but heard nothing except the echoing ring in her ears. It was dark in the sense of her mind being… blank; empty. No thoughts yelled orders for her to make a move, to retch at the smell that seemed to curl her nose hairs. "Get up!" the voice was sharp and hoarse, her brows creased as it echoed through the void of her conscience. She knew that voice… that's when everything started to peel away. The noise prowled into her ears, it felt like rocks were grinding against her skull as screams of panic, yelling of orders, roaring flames and the undeniable battle cry of a dragon. _

"_Get the fuck up, elf!" _

"No one's allowed in with the dragons about, elf."

_News must travel fast_. Dene paused at the man's muffled words and glanced towards the other guard that stood at his post near the large wooden door. She turned stiffly to the others that were on watch over the slightly ruined battlements. Helgen had had walls, maybe not as large as Whiterun's (_Compensating much_) but dragons have wings… and fire. She pondered her words carefully, her tired mind slightly clouded with annoyance. _Stupid guards… Think they're so significant with their ridiculous helmets. _The full face helmet only had two eye holes, leaving the rest to her imagination, it was slightly disconcerting. _How do they even see out of those things?_

"I have information on the dragon." Her voice was strained and slightly slurred; her throat raw from all the smoke inhalation.

The guard glanced to his companion before staring back at her. She couldn't tell if he was considering her words or just waiting for her to leave. Dene shifted on her feet, ready to walk off and find another way in until the helmet spoke.

"Fine, I'll let you in, but I'll have my eye on you, elf." He sneered, stepping aside to let her pass as his companion opened the wooden gates.

A triumphant smile tilted her lips, proud her persuasion skills had prevented a stealth wall climb.

_She staggered into the fort after Ralof. He slammed the door shut in his haste, the chaos from outside muffled by the thick stone walls. Inside was dark, the torches casting shadows of the people inside on the walls. Blood weaved its way through the lines of stone on the floor from the two rebels that lay, one pale with death, the other injured and waiting for it._

"_My Jarl… what the—was that really a-a dragon?!" Ralof's voice was bordering on panic but still had enough control to offer respect as he questioned his leader. _

_Dene only glanced at Ulfric before stepping towards the winding stairs. She didn't need that answer, she knew what she saw was indeed very real, felt the heat of the flames that fell from its mouth. It filled her gut with dread and panic was sure to follow as soon as the shock of it all faded. It was best she was far away before it sunk in; before she did something stupid. Like get herself killed._

She guessed that a Jarl would be living somewhere big and luxurious, probably overrated. Dene found it somewhat humorous in a perverted kind of way. Normally she would try to avoid the monarch's dwellings and here she was, planning to stroll right into the very place where guards were at every corner, suspicious of all strangers, thinking them thieves and no-gooders…. In this case they would be right to push her aside and frisk her. She shifted through the streets, attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible which wasn't too hard considering the citizens were walking all over each other like ants would when the rains come; not caring who they pushed or trampled. It was like trying to weasel your way through the neck of a bottle. It was rather overwhelming; being squished so close to someone that your nose it right up against their armpit. And that's what this place smelt like; sweat, stale mead and other- unidentifiable things.

_Dene stumbled her way up the coiling steps, meeting a Stormcloak solider. He was moving fallen stones that blocked the rest of the path. He saw her and looked to her bound hands before gesturing to the stone mound, "There is another door to a keep on the other side. I just need to move some of the roc-." _

_Instinct made her grip the wall in a vain attempt at steadying herself as her vision was consumed by scorching flames, the wall combusting from the force of the dragon's collision. Time seemed to freeze when Dene saw the black leathery creature up close. A shudder racked up her spine at the sight of its hellish red eyes. But as fast as it had appeared the dragon's head withdrew, leaving a gaping hole in the wall. She stood stock still for a moment, adrenaline pumping in her veins. Glancing between the now scorched Stormcloak and the gaping hole; just in case the giant reptile decided to pop back in and barbecue her as well._

"_Elf! Get yourself together; we need to get out of here." Ralof's harsh voice penetrated her mind. She looked back to the Nord rushing up the stairs behind her. _

_Dene gave herself an encouraging nod before awkwardly scuffling around the debris of castle and stood at the opening. What was left of a slightly burning house, a dragon torso sized hole in the roof, was constructed almost right alongside the tower. The drop wasn't too great, if she angled herself right she should make the jump… the key word being _should_. _

"_What are you doing!" Ralof growled, making a grab for Dene's arm. "We need to -,"_

"_Get out, yeah I know." The woodelf cut off with a mutter, shrugging the Nords hand off and gestured toward the house. "We could jump into the house, then we could make our way to-," _

"_Are you mad?" Ralof exclaimed, startling the elf. _

_She was not mad. It was a perfectly logical idea… she would jump tree to rooftop all the time at home when she was a child… then again this was a completely different scenario… Big lizard and flying fire balls and all…_

_She must have taken too long to consider his accusation, for the blond Nord's face contorted into disbelief. "We are not jumping, elf!" Ralof retorted, no scolded her; like some damn child._

_She breathed in quick breathes in and out to settle her nerves before stepping up onto the ledge. She didn't think when she leaped though the air_ _for thinking would make her hesitate. Ralof roaring out after her. _

"_Elf!" _

She asked around, but none of the town's people gave her an answer. They would look at her with an expression that reminded her of one with constipation, and the faceless guard she asked crossed his arms and scoffed… She stood and waited for an answer until he abruptly shouted, 'No lollygagging.' Whatever the hell that meant. She gave up when the air became uncomfortably chilled, and the streets started to empty. She backtracked to a two story structure that had sculptured dragon heads on the roof and a wooden sign that had a picture of a Beer mug hanging by the base of the entrances stairs. It had what Dene recognised as letters but she could not make any understanding of the faded words. Where she came from alcohol signs mean inns and inns meant beds for hire; she hoped it meant the same thing here… it can only mean so many things after all…

Dene strode up the stairs and heaved the door open. Inside was considerably warmer than what it was outside, warming her goose bumped skin and flushed cheeks that had started to turn a shade between pink and purple. Conversations cut off, all heads turning to her as she closed the door. She stood awkwardly at all the attention directed to her. She scanned each of the inns occupants with critical eyes. Two Redguards sat across each, a woman and a man, steaming hot bowls in front of them. Dene's stomach grumbled at the sight. She had eaten an apple and a carrot on the walk to Whiterun, leaving the rest for later, but she longed for a properly cooked meal. She thought after the day's events she deserved one.

A large, bitter looking Dunmer woman in leather garb sat on her lonesome at a round table off to the side with a mug in her hand, opposite to the counter where Dene stood. Behind the wooden desk was (to her utter surprise) a Bosmer man, leaning lazily against the wall. He shot up as her eyes zoned on him.

"Ah... How my heart soars to look upon a sister Bosmer. Welcome to the Drunken Huntsman." His voice was a welcome if she were to be honest. The Nords accents were starting to strain her ears. "You look a right mess sister, how may I help you? Need new hunting supplies, leather armour perhaps?"

Dene hesitated with her words. Hunting supplies? Leather armour? A tight grip in her stomach made her feel like she was missing something… made her feel like the question she was about to ask would make her sound like complete fool. "No,-I'm looking for a place to stay… Do you have any rooms?"

There was a pause where Dene and the male elf just stared at each other. Dene felt the uncomfortable itch begin in her palms, begging her to look away, to just walk back out and act as though she had never walked in. But she held her ground with her own stubbornness to admit that she may actually be wrong; albeit weakly.

"I'm sorry but this is no inn sister; nothing more than a hunting lodge. You're new here yes?" The male elf gave her a polite smile.

"Just passing through." She sighed, eyeing the items on the counter.

Now that she knew it seemed pretty damn obvious. The amount of meat that was cooking above the indoor fire was ridiculous. A training dummy was behind the desk next to weapon rack. Targets hung from a wall near a large barrel… Dene looked back to the items on the desk. A fancy bow. It was impressive; its draw looked a lot stronger than the current long bow that was in her possession. Her eyes were drawn to a pair of snug looking leather boots. They sat humbly on the second sill of a small shelf. Her eyes lingered a bit before nodding at the Bosmer before she made her way to the back door.

"The Bannered Mare is the inn you should be looking for, 10 gold to stay the night, it's in the market place." He sized her up, "The roof has horse head carvings mounted on it, can't miss it."

Dene nodded, glancing around the room and the counter, she gave him a small smile before departing for the inn from the back door; this one didn't creak like the front, which Dene was grateful.

He was right, it wasn't hard to miss, but who the hell would suspect 'The Bannered Mare' to be an inn? It had a horse sign at the entrance for fucks sake; horses had nothing to do with beds for hire, or even alcohol. Slightly put out she entered the inn. Dene took in a lung full of air, smelling the bitter scent of liquor, feet and cooked food. It was a strange mix.

It was loud. A bard's voice rang out while playing a lute, bawdy men and scantily dressed women were drenched in alcohol and other wet substances as they yelled conversation and guffawed obnoxiously. They filled the small area, some standing and clinging off each other for support. Others gathered around a fire pit that was placed in the middle of the room, speaking of their adventures and glory days, and the occasional loner who was happy to sit separate at tables in far corners.

Dene slid past the rank smelling bodies with little effort, but still fell victim to splashes of mead from waving cups of excited men, (that were still in possession of a weapon of sorts). She approached the bar warily where a tall dry skinned woman with straggly brown hair, tied in a bun, stood cleaning a mug with a rag. Dene assumed her to be the innkeeper. Hopefully her assumption would be right this time.

The woman looked up at the elf with a small nod in acknowledgement before leaning towards her, "Evening, can I get you something?" Her voice was just as rough as she appeared.

"A room, and warm bath water please." Dene said, copying her actions.

"Alright, that will be 15 septim's. You got the gold?" She inquired, her eyebrow lifting in a sceptical manner as she scanned her from head to toe.

Dene stared at her, somewhat offended, but smirked slightly as she bent down and pulled her ruined boot off her sore foot. The woman scowled at her as she shook it until a small sack clunked onto the counter. Dene gave a satisfied smile, shoving the shoe back onto her foot.

She watched as the Nord hesitantly opened the coin purse. She glanced in before emptying the contents into her palm. "There is twenty here. I can get you a hot meal while you wait for the water for the extra five?" Her tone had changed considerably at the gold in her hands.

At the mention of food her mouth watered, "That would be great." She replied without a beat, almost stuttering it out.

The woman nodded at her, pocketing the gold. "Okay, here's the key, I'll show you to your room."

* * *

_The room was dead silent, the only noise being the soft snores of its occupants. It was as if it were any other night; undisturbed. Light scratches and tinks rustled, disturbing the peace. The door glided open without a hitch, letting in a cold draft. Shadows formed from the fire light that flooded in from the streets and loomed against the walls. A silent figure slipped inside, closing the door enough to stop the cold from flowing in but not enough for it to shut. The glow of hot coals sat undisturbed in a fire pit, the only light in the room. The dark figures foot falls were almost completely silent as they moved across the room. Its unwelcome fingers feel upon the desired objectives before they left the Drunken Huntsmen to its former undisturbed peace._

* * *

Like clockwork, Elrindir stumbled out of his room, hair pointing at strange angles, eyes blurred from sleep. He erupted into a large yawn as he made his way to the bathroom to go through his everyday routine, get changed, brush teeth, wash face, take a leak, eat breakfast and then open shop. It was when he opened shop he noticed what was there, or, more accurately, what wasn't. He stared at his counter blankly; letting the absence process.

"Anoriath!" The woodelf yelled, rushing to his older brother's room, "Anoriath, you lazy fuck wake up." Elrindir screeched, shoving the door open.

His dishevelled brother shot up, "What? How?" His voice, though groggy with sleep, was still alarmed.

"You didn't lock up last night did you?" Elrindir accused, his face red with anger.

"I did lock up, you little shit! What was taken?"

* * *

Dene's eyes opened slowly. She felt like she was sleeping on soft wool, a great feeling compared to the hard ground she was previously sleeping on before being captured in that stupid ambush. She shook of the thought like one would swat a fly and lounged out like a cat, arching her back. Cracking her bones she sighed at the release of pressure. No need to recall on something like that when on a bed as soft as this. She lay there with her eyes closed and muscles slack for only a few minutes. She had to get up, had things to do.

She got up and sat at the edge of the bed, running her fingers through her freshly washed hair. She had slept in her undergarments so the cool morning air of Skyrim caused her skin to pebble with bumps. She quickly got dressed before sitting back down and pulling on her washed socks and snug leather boots. She wiggled her toes as they got the feel of the new high quality leather. Dene smiled at her newly acquired shoes before grabbing her pack of supplies and fancy bow before she left the inn; satisfied smirk in place.


	3. Dragonsreach

**_Misunderstood by Animals _**

_Admittedly, it hadn't been a smart move on her part. Making such a bold attempt after stealing the boots and bow was sure to put more guards on the lookout. She stuck with the large crowds, a hood she had found on a dead man in a cage that she was told to picklock in the torture room at Helgen. It covered her face as she made way through the city yet again in another attempt at finding the Jarls quarters. Turns out, there's more than one section in Whiterun, separating the poor from the rich and the rich from the richer. Dene immediately noticed the changes the further she walked through the upper-levels. As the air became clearer, the citizens clothing became finer, the structures became fancier and it became harder for her to blend in. She kept to groups, hunching her shoulders to make herself smaller, edging around the guards that were standing at their posts or roaming the streets. Even with her features covered, the hood made the rich folk uneasy, some blatantly giving her a wider berth. The place being so big didn't help either, at some point she had looped back to where she started. It was like a maze. Now normally her sense of direction was very reliable… but everything here looked the same. Around lunch time was when she had just resorted to follow her feet, which she should have done sooner when she thought about it. Not too long after that she got bored, never a good thing when it came to Dene. _

_So when she came across the upper-class market place, she just couldn't resist. _

She slammed down into a crouch against the small rock fence, a shadow casting over her from the evening sun. She breathed as quietly as possible as guards charged through the market place like bulls. This was a very familiar scene, maybe not particularly location wise, but evading capture was a weekly occurrence. She clutched the small bag of goods to her side with a small smirk as she heard the thumping footsteps and clattering of armour mesh retreat into the distance. Dene glanced up from behind the miniature rock wall and watched the startled people. Seeing the chanting cloaked man whom she had bowled over in her haste brushing himself off. She clutched the bag fondly and turned around to face the strange upside down boat that the wall she was braced against. The innkeeper had said if she saw the boat she would see the Jarl's home. She had said it to be 'The boat that housed the Companions'. The Companions being a group of trained warriors, who fought wild beasts to protect the city. For a price, of course. She scrutinised the structure with a lifted brow, cocking her head to the side. They sounded more like mercenaries with a pretty name to her. And mercenary's a mercenary, no matter what fancy name they're labelled.

Dene stiffened with slight panic at the sound of footsteps, stumbling towards her. She attempted turning around to see who was coming at her before she reacted hostilely, but she was too slow. Something collided into her slightly hunched form. Dene shot up, pocketing the small bag of goods and glaring haughtily up at the culprit, until her eyes zoned onto the _mighty sharp_ sword that was gripped in their hands. Instinct took over, her stance changed from disorientated to defensive. The perpetrator was a female Nord, taller than her by a substantial amount but scrawny. She had girl like features, hardly threatening physique wise. Her face was rounded, messy black hair falling into her green eyes, large with fright. Dene looked warily at the sword, losing her 'kick and flee' stiffness and let out a small sigh of relief. She hadn't been caught by some compensating law official. The Nord could barely hold the bloody weapon up, let alone take a swing.

The Nord seemed to attempt to square her shoulders, "Oi! Who're you?" her voice cracked, like a boy's would when reaching manhood which would normally be amusing to the elf is she didn't feel as if she was being put on the spot.

Dene squinted at the lanky woman, "None of your business."

The dark haired Nord stared at her blankly, her mouth opened in a small O before snapping shut, her shoulders slouching slightly, "Then what do you think you're doing sneaking around here?"

Dene scowled, "I could ask you the same thing."

She puffed her chest, "I'm a member of the Companions." The Nord quipped, jutting her chin.

Dene blanched, Mercenaries with pretty names… not bloody likely, she wasn't the type, which she told her, probably a bit more rudely then she meant which earned her a semi forceful shove. It startled her to say the least, her footing faltering under the unexpected force. Dene cursed, righting herself before she fell flat on her arse and glared at the Nord.

"I don't like it when I can't see the person I'm talking to. Now," scrawny arms levelled the sharp tip of a sword with her face. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Dene held back a tortured sigh of indignation. She eyed the trembling blade before looking at the whitened knuckles and strained arms of the Nord. All these people had serious ego problems, who the hell carries a sword they can't even use? Dene really needed to start preparing for the amount of compensation she was bound to run into in this land. Containing the urge to roll her eyes, Dene lightly pushed the sword out of her face; the Nords façade dropping instantly, her eyes turning as big as saucers, an underlining innocence's saturated with disappointment.

"Oh come on, give me a break and just answer the question- please?" the sword fell limply by her side with a light tap, puppy eyes from hell in place.

Well, she couldn't really tell her why she was there, _'Hiding from guards and angry rich Nords for pickpocketing their coin purses and steeling there shiny goods'…_ She didn't think that would go down very well. And giving out her name didn't seem like a good idea either. She could probably lie… Yeah, lying sounded like a good option.

She must have taken too long to state her lie for the Nord sighed, "Never mind," before grumbling, "If you're interested, I'm Thaylen, current butt monkey of the Companions. If you're looking to join, stay away from the man called Vilkas, the guys a bit of an arse."

"Dene." She inwardly winced; it left her lips before she could even think. The Nord woman, _Thaylen_, looked at her blankly… Ego issues and slow in the head. Couldn't get any better. "My name, its Dene… I - I'm lost." She repeated slowly.

Thaylen lifted a brow, "Yeah, so?"

Dene shifted on her feet, clenching her jaw, eye twitching slightly in frustration. "Some directions would be appreciated, to uh- _Dragonsreach_?" her voice was slightly strained.

Thaylen stared at her then as if she was the one slow in the head. "You mean the big castle up there?" she pointed up and across what looked like a black smith forge, to a large cluster of stairs that lead to a large stone tower placed on the highest point, surrounded by a stone wall and what looked like wooden stakes. Dene averted her eyes from the Nord and cleared her throat awkwardly.

She had ran _right past_ that damn thing. How… inconvenient, "Right, I knew that."

Thaylen squinted at her strangely, making Dene glance around awkwardly at the pregnant silence. "Hang on, I know you!" she cried, making Dene flinch slightly at the sudden outburst before her words sunk in.

_Oh crap_… Dene scanned around to see if the outburst had caught anyone's attention before squaring her shoulders and settling a glare at the Nord, hoping to get her irritation across. It must have worked for Thaylen's eyes widened immediately back into saucers, "No wait, I mean I've seen you before! At Helgen, the dragon attack, - your hair…"

Dene stiffened at the mention of Helgen, the hair on her arms standing on end with the reminder of heat, scales and screams. She sook herself out of her stupor and eyed the Nord carefully. Dark straggly hair, wide green eyes, small nose… She didn't recall such a fragile presence-

"I mean…your ears."

_Wait a minute_. Dene stared hard at the girl. The dark haired woman who stood out in line with the Stormcloak soldiers at the execution… who looked like she was going to release her bodily fluids "Yes, I remember you," She eyed her again, slightly bemused at how a scrawny thing like her could have escaped that fiery abyss whilst trained soldiers didn't have such luck. "How in Tamriel did _you_ escape?" She didn't mean for it to come out so crude, but she was curious, she hadn't seen her when she was free from the walls of Helgen, or on the roads to Whiterun.

"I got out through a hole in the battlements." She grumbled. Which made sense, she was a slight woman, squeezing through breaks in the wall probably was an easy task. "It took me two days to get to Whiterun."

Dene paused at that, "Two days? What were you doing? Having a bloody pleasure walk?"

The Nord spluttered. "What? No! I went through the woods." She defended, "How did you get here then?"

Dene lifted a brow, "I took the path from Riverwood."

It was the Nords turn to avert her eyes, "Yeah well, shut up," she snapped meekly.

That Dene _did _find this humorous, a small snort escaping her, but the Nord took it in kind. Thaylen made her leave towards the upside down boat, saying she had things to do and to drop by if she needed any more _directions. _But Dene doubted she would see the scrawny Nord again.

Dene had waited for the heat to cool, after her little scene in the markets, before she weaved her way through the crowds towards Dragonsreach. She avoided all face time with the guards, angling herself away from them whenever they were to walk past. Dragonsreach was, as she had presumed, an overrated castle, perched at the very tip top of White Run. The flight of stairs that lead to and arching bridge in front of the castle were surrounded by intersecting pools full with clear rushing water. The sound of the water running down its designated path was soothing and washed out the hustle and bustle of the town's citizens below.

She took two steps at a time. The guards surprisingly didn't attempt to halt her path as she reached the large front doors. She froze, the door was finely carved and had flags on either side with the horse symbol, coloured with the cities theme of green and yellow. She gripped the metal loops with clammy hands to pull the large wooden door open, only to be met with a groan of protest. Adjusting her grasp she heaved again…. And again. Muttering silent curses, she cracked her knuckles and hovered her hands above the levers, wiggling her fingers before taking hold.

She took a large breath and held it as she pulled with all her might, until her face was red with the effort "Fucking tits, balls, arse." But with no success she deflated loudly.

Dene stepped back, her arms crossed firmly, her face emanated into a scowl which quickly shifted and froze into that of disgruntled realisation. As calmly as possible, she braced her hands on the wooden doors and pushed. Spicy smells filled her nose with a tingly itch and she couldn't tell if she found them pleasant or overwhelming, what she saw almost made her pause with bewilderment. Dene had never entered a Jarls quarters before, never had the need to confront them and never had been game enough to try steal from them.

The hall was large and empty besides a woven rug that lead to another set of stairs. Maids shuffled around with brooms and trays full of steaming food. Dene walked slowly through the hall and up the stairs to another room consumed by long, dark wooden tables which had a whole heap of food assortments set up, nice and neat like, with silver cutlery. There could have been enough there to feed a small army, but never actually had because no solider would have had the privilege to feast on such sustenance. The pillars supporting the second story which was open and peering down upon the dining hall had fancy engraved torches lighting up the entire room with a wealthy yellow.

Dene walked through the large hall cautiously. She was not supposed to be here, her entire persona was out of place, the feeling raked through her body to the point adrenaline started to pump through her veins. So at gaining the attention of a heavily armoured dark elf and having the red eyed woman going straight to her sword made Dene's fight or flight instinct bustle. And there was no way she was going to die for trying to help.

"What is this disturbance? Who are you, why are you here?"

Dene ignored the hissed demand and instead spun on her heel and quickly made her way towards the large wooden door.

"I'm speaking to you, Forest humper!"

Dene froze, back arching stiffly as she turned to eye the Dark elf, sword drawn and poised for conflict. She shifted to face the hostile woman properly_.__Ok, be calm, you're on their turf, don't bite the bait or someone's going to have a field day gutting your insides. _Dene eyed the other elf, she was tall with sharp features, and rather solid looking, whether that was because of the bulky armour or not, Dene couldn't tell. But the style screamed royal guard, scuffs and dints noticeably buffed out and shone like wax in the torch light. _Say something smart, smooth. Anything, just don't antagonise the situation. _

"Let's not resort to name calling now, Bootlicker."

Shit.

Dene barely side stepped the Dark elf's downward strike in time before it hammered past her and into the wooden chair sitting innocently at the food clustered table. Dene kicked the victim chair into the larger woman's steel clad stomach, leaving her unbalanced and startled; the moment of confusion allowing Dene time to jump onto the table, scattering cutlery onto the floor and leave her on the opposite side, the wooden slab between them.

The woman had an ugly snarl on her lips, spittle gathered at the edge of her mouth, frothing angrily as she ripped the chair out from in front of her.

In any other situation she would have drawn her bow in defence, if they had been bandits on the road trying to take her shit and to things to her that would make her wish she were dead, she wouldn't hesitate. But she wasn't on the road and these weren't bandits. She was in a palace, full of law enforcing guards. The fact being she wasn't a killer—or suicidal. She was a thief and a drifter. She was not about to go to jail with murder charges, not after just escaping the chopping block.

"_What is your purpose in this hold_!?"

"I have news of the dragon!"

A tense silence fell upon the hall as Dene raised her hands in surrender in an effort to calm the frothing elf,

"Riverwood calls for aid."

The Dark elf paused, eyes accusing, "You lie."

"Irileth, that's enough."

The voice was deep and full of regal tones. The words stopped the Dark elf completely; she stilled and holstered her sword with a finesse that made Dene's palms sweat. She looked to a large Nord man sitting lazily on a wooden throne eyeing her with interest and what could be considered amusement.

"You there, come forward."

Dene cast wary eyes between the guard dog, faceless soldiers and who she presumed was the Jarl of Whiterun and a short, balding man standing stiffly at his side. She edged her way along the table towards the Jarl's chair where the yellow bones of a dragon skull perched; pocketing a small sweet roll as she passed the deserts.

"What's this of Riverwood being in danger?"

Dene cleared her throat and gave a pointed look to the Dark elf. "A dragon destroyed Helgen. There has been word that Riverwood may be next."

The Nord tensed and stared at Dene with a critical eye before he lent forward, eyebrows creased.

"You're sure it was a dragon that destroyed Helgen? This wasn't some Stormcloak raid gone wrong?"

Dene glared at the dragon skull above the throne, "Yes." She looked to the Jarl, "I had a great view on the Imperial's chopping block."

There was a long pause where all the Jarl did was stare at her with mild shock, "You're certainly… forthright about your criminal past." He stared at her some more, "But it's none of my concern who the Imperial's want to execute. Especially now. What I want to know is what happened at Helgen, _exactly._"

"The dragon burnt Helgen to the ground. Last time I saw, it was heading this way."

"By Ysmir, Irileth was right." The Jarl looked to the Dark elf who stood next to Dene as if she was there the entire time. Damn near scared the crap out of her, you would think with that armour she would clank and rattle. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a fire breathing dragon?"

The large woman looked to Dene for a moment, "My lord, Riverwood is in the most immediate danger, if that dragons still lurking in the mountains. We should send troops to Riverwood at once."

A nervous chuckle came from the balding man who had otherwise stayed silent till then, his sceptical eyes on the large Dark elf. "The Jarl of Farkreath will see this as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him. My Jarl, we should not—"

The large Nord slapped his fist on his thrones arm rest, demanding silence, "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

The Dark elf, Irileth, bowed her head in respect before turning swiftly on her heel and matching her way to the wooden doors.

Dene's hackles calmed a little with Irileth's departure. She breathed in deeply before nodding to the Jarl and turning for the exit.

She took all of two steps before the Jarl gave a lazy, "Wait."

He didn't even have to make it sound like an order for the uttered word to make her stop. A small twigged held her gut in a knot. She turned slightly to catch the Jarl's eye, and she knew she was going to be dragged into some crazy shit.

***  
R&R  
I would like to thank atomicvegemite for her support for this story. :)


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